


Study Club

by ellipsometry



Series: ✧SASO 2017✧ [13]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: Daichi doesn’t actually know Oikawa.  He knowsofhim, like one knowsofa myth, or a celebrity, or a criminal.  Which is to say, Daichi knows Oikawa exists, and that he is probably better left alone.So, he turns to take his leave, except--“Don’t justleave,” Oikawa says, tutting and slamming his book shut with more force than is probably necessary, “I’ve lost my focus.  So now it’s your job to entertain me.”Daichi tries to hide away at a party, and finds Oikawa instead.





	Study Club

**Author's Note:**

> [written for SASO bonus round 4!](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=14458225#cmt14458225)

It’s Suga’s fault, as per usual. His persistence is the only reason Daichi actually ventures out on a Friday night, finding himself clutching an overly strong mixed drink, huddled in the corner of a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend’s crowded dorm room, watching his inebriated classmates make fools of themselves in increasingly creative ways. One drunk girl barrels through the crowd and steps on a shattered glass barefoot, and Daichi thinks that this very might well be his own personal hell.

“Stop being shy!!” Suga practically yells, slapping Daichi on the back, hard, “Let’s have some fun!”

Daichi wouldn’t call himself _shy_ by any means, but sometimes he can seem so in contrast to Suga, who is effervescent and effortlessly fun (when he wants to be.) It’s the least Daichi can do to humor him, taking part in some drinking games and downing a couple shots before he slips away to take a breather.

The dorm is massive, one of the four-person suites that has a years-long waiting list, and all but one of the rooms is occupied by partygoers. The door to the last room is ajar just a crack, but no one seems to be going anywhere near it. Everyone must know something that Daichi doesn’t, he thinks.

“Stop hovering,” a voice snaps at him, and it takes Daichi a drunken moment to realize the voice is coming from inside the room, “I can see you, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Daichi says, opening the door a bit so he can apologize properly, “I was just, uh. Getting some air.”

“Some air,” the voice inside the room deadpans. Daichi has to crane his neck to see the owner of the voice, a boy who’s sitting on a futon, an open book in his lap, surrounded by decorative pillows, lounging on them like some kind of medieval king. He’s got wide brown eyes, obfuscated a bit by a pair of black-framed glasses, but it’s the scrunch of his nose more than anything that strikes familiarity with Daichi.

“Oh!” he takes a step into the room, “You’re Oikawa!”

“... Do I know you?”

“No,” Daichi shrugs. And then, before he can think better of it, asks, “Who studies at a party?”

He gestures to the open textbook in Oikawa’s lap, and Oikawa sighs melodramatically, “I’m not studying _at_ a party, I’m studying in my dorm. It just so happens that some people are also having a party here.”

“Uh huh,” Daichi swallows a laugh, “Why don’t you just close your door, then?”

“The ambiance, I don’t know,” Oikawa sighs again, petulant, “I don’t like feeling left out!”

Daichi doesn’t actually know Oikawa. He knows _of_ him, like one knows _of_ a myth, or a celebrity, or a criminal. Which is to say, Daichi knows Oikawa exists, and that he is probably better left alone.

So, he turns to take his leave, except--

“Don’t just _leave_ ,” Oikawa says, tutting and slamming his book shut with more force than is probably necessary, “I’ve lost my focus. So now it’s your job to entertain me.”

“Um,” Daichi turns his head toward the half-open door, and the noisy din of the party outside. To be honest, he wants nothing more than to be at home, in his own bed, sound asleep. But somehow, spending some time in a quiet dorm room with the (semi-infamous) Oikawa Tooru doesn’t seem like a bad option either, “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

He settles down on the futon next to Oikawa, nudging some extra pillows out of the way, ignoring Oikawa’s distraught face, “I’m Sawamura Daichi, by the way. You can call me Daichi.”

“Charmed,” Oikawa says, voice flat, “And you already know me, so no need for pleasantries.”

Daichi nods, taking a long sip of his drink, looking down at Oikawa’s textbook again, “You know you can just go to the library to study, right?”

“Oh, there’s a thought! ‘ _You know you can just go to the library,_ ’” Oikawa repeats, mockingly, “Look at me, do I look fit for public consumption right now?”

“Sure,” Daichi says instantly, even though he knows that’s not the answer Oikawa’s looking for.

“Are you kidding?” Oikawa hisses, gesturing to his torso like that’s supposed to mean anything to Daichi. Honestly, he looks good. Maybe not party-ready, but he looks comfortable, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized sweater that’s large enough that Daichi can see a freckled patch of skin where the collar slips slightly off his right shoulder.

Oikawa’s hair -- well, it could probably use a comb. But it’s still tossed in an artfully messy way that someone as good-looking as Oikawa can get away with easily.

The splash of red across Oikawa’s face tells Daichi that he’s accidentally said that last bit out loud, but he’s just tipsy enough not to care, “We’re in college,” he adds, “No one cares what we look like.”

“ _I_ care,” Oikawa says, resting a hand against his chest, “Studying in public is a performance. It’s something that must be _prepared_ for.”

Daichi blinks, “If you say so.”

“Maybe it’s nothing to guys like you,” Oikawa continues, prodding an accusatory finger at Daichi, “What, with your… your _arms_ , a-and your _legs_.”

“Pretty sure most people at the library have arms and legs.”

“You don’t know that!” Oikawa says, voice raising an octave, “Just take the compliment and go!”

Daichi laughs at that, so loudly that Oikawa startles a bit. He slides down on the couch a bit, settling in until his thigh is pressing against Oikawa’s, the heat comforting and present even through the material of his jeans.

“I thought you were supposed to be smooth,” Daichi says, looking over at Oikawa with an eyebrow quirked, “From what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“And I thought _you_ were supposed to be--” Oikawa starts talking before his brain can finish his thought, “Well, I didn’t think anything about you, because I’d never heard of you, so.”

“Sounds about right,” Daichi hums, nudging Oikawa’s knee again with his leg, “And what do you think now? That you have heard of me?”

Oikawa folds his arms, pouting, but Daichi doesn’t miss the way he leans over, into Daichi’s space, until the right side of his body is flush with Daichi’s left. Oikawa is solid, not at all dainty, even with his delicate, almost elfish features. The contrast is interesting, and makes Daichi wonder what else about Oikawa is different than what most people would assume.

“You’re alright,” Oikawa decides.

“You mind if I put that glowing recommendation on my CV?”

At that, Oikawa finally laughs. His laugh is loud and unattractive, something akin to a witch’s cackle, maybe. Daichi has no doubt that Oikawa has a selection of demure and charming laughs that he takes care to dispense in public; this version of Oikawa, however, is a lot more captivating.

The tension broken, the two of them talk for the better part of an hour, tossing quips about well-known characters on campus and mutually-loathed professors. Oikawa polishes off Daichi’s drink, and Daichi looks toward the door, wondering if he should venture back into the party for a refill.

“Hey,” Oikawa says, voice soft, “Do you wanna close the door?”

When Daichi looks over, his mouth goes dry. Oikawa is leaning toward him, until they’re nearly chest-to-chest, and his sweater is dipping down just enough that Daichi can see the slope of his collar bone. Oikawa’s mouth is open in a small ‘o’, lips wet and pink from the alcohol.

“Yeah,” Daichi says, swallowing hard, “Let’s do that.”

He never does make it home that night.


End file.
